


Switching Places

by Clueingforlooks221B



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: Clothes switch, Crossdressing, Fluff, Flug wears Demencia's clothes and Demencia wears his, Humor, M/M, Paperhat - Freeform, flughat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-08 00:27:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11070228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clueingforlooks221B/pseuds/Clueingforlooks221B
Summary: Quick summary: Demencia "asks" (blackmails) Flug into switching clothes with her so that she can have more of a chance to talk to Black Hat.Snippet:His saliva sticks to his esophagus, making him almost choke as he struggles to shove it all down. “O-Okay, what is it?”“I need your clothes.” Her eyes are unmoving, boring so intensely into Flug’s bag he feels like she can see his face.Flug blinks, puzzlement burning his nerves. He knows Demencia is strange, she has definitely requested much weirder, but this is a whole new level of bizarre.He crosses his arms, shoulders and neck loosening. The feeling is always a bit foreign, the aches of the previous apprehensive tension is stained into the crevices of his skin. “And why would I do that?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One I'm not set on the title but I cannot think of anything haha. Also, this is a bit different than my usual style. I am normally a lot more thorough and visual... but I wrote this quickly, and really wanted to put something out for this fandom. I didn't edit as much as I normally do, but regardless, I hope you all enjoy!

The hue of blue is perfect, a bubbling aegean that bleeds into a deep sapphire as the liquid licks up the beaker. 

Flug knows this ideal stage will only last for about eight more seconds. 

At the last second he has to put, just a drop, of the magenta out of the dropper that is currently wobbling between the thumb and pointer finger of his marigold gloves. 

After then will the potion be foolproof. 

Seven. 

He watches his eyes narrow off the top of the beaker since it is still clear, the liquid not yet having attacked that far.

Six. 

Sucking in a trembling breath, he attempts to force his hands to still. 

Five. 

He fails, his hands mock him by shaking even harder. 

Four. 

Oh well, it never stopped him before. 

Three. 

Just a little set back, but not enough to ruin this potion! 

Two.

“Hey Flug~” The tension of the moment is immediately shattered, akin to how the beaker would have been if the doctor hadn’t caught it. He barely manages to, the wet condensation hugging the bottom of the beaker causing the beaker to jaggedly slither down his fingers. 

But it wouldn't have mattered if it had dropped. It’s all futile now. The potion won’t work anymore. The perfect blue has wilted into a bitter mocha. 

He slams the beaker down onto the ebony table in front of him, but of course not hard enough to break the beaker. More cautiously, he sets the dropper down beside it. That liquid is explosive, after all. 

He looses enough beakers on a daily basis as it is with, certain members of the house. 

Speaking of those members. 

Sharply inhaling, he turns to a widely grinning Demencia, glowering at her. He clenches his fists, shoulders cowering into his back. “Demencia! For the last time I told you-“ 

She waves her right hand, knocking his stark consonants away, her unwavering simper proving she wasn’t listening nor caring. “I know I know, stay out of the lab. But I’m not here to cause trouble,” she pauses, smile dwindling tightly to the edge of her left lip, stretching the left half of her mouth upwards, “well, actually, I have a favor to ask you.” 

Flug’s scalding tension ebbs to a crisp teeth-chattering one. The rougher tension that shoves against his temples, and uses its meaty hands to force his shoulder blades to squeeze together. 

A sign he knows this is definitely going to end badly. Anything with Demencia in the mix is bound to. 

His saliva sticks to his esophagus, making him almost choke as he struggles to shove it all down. “O-Okay, what is it?”

“I need your clothes.” Her eyes are unmoving, boring so intensely into Flug’s bag he feels like she can see his face. 

Flug blinks, puzzlement burning his nerves. He knows Demencia is strange, she has definitely requested much weirder, but this is just a whole new level of bizarre. 

He crosses his arms, shoulders and neck loosening. The feeling is always a bit foreign, the aches of the previous apprehensive tension is stained into the crevices of his skin. “And why would I do that?” 

Her pupils sparkle, and instantaneously he can tell the answer had been dancing on her tongue long before he asked the question. “Because I knowww you’re sec-ret!” Her words carry an unheard tune; and are cut off by the harsh grin that flashes her chiffon glistening teeth. Between the fangs he knows there are still vowels shoving their way to jump right behind her teeth, early waiting his next sentence to be able to leap out. 

“W-what? I don't have any s-secrets!” His arms automatically lock in front of his too still chest, oxygen thinning and struggling to course through his inflating lungs. He draws his slightly quivering arms to his sides, attempting to feign calmness. 

He doesn't know why he bothers to when he knows it is insanely obvious. 

“Besides what’s under my bag.” The afterthought slips out, gnawing at his fingers to pull the edges of his bag down more. Even though the bag resists, because it can’t go down anymore, he still tugs anyways to attempt and quail the fear. 

Her lower lip hangs heavy, sinking down the past light in her eyes. She’s definitely loosing interest. “No no not that, you’re other secret.” 

Slowly his finger inch off the bottom of his bag. “You’re bluffing.” He narrows his eyes at her, arms soaring back to cross in front of him. She grins once more, the light shinning blindingly bright and surging to the very brink of her irises. 

“You,” She takes a step forwards. 

“like,” Her pitch skips an octave higher and somehow her smile doubles in size. It’s comically large, and Flug is sure her face is going to rip in half. 

“Black hat!”

All of Flug’s thoughts explode, leaving his brain to chunks. Everything is dull, but bright somehow, and ringing and hissing. His mouth hangs open, his lips met with the rough paper bag. Nothing tells him to breathe, or nags at him to work harder, or do something. 

Everything is motionless, but not silent because everything is screaming and it’s literally deafening. 

And in their house, silence is hardly ever a good thing. 

Flug has killed for his own mind to be quiet for once. But he never wanted it like this. 

Suddenly he’s gasping for air, the world snapping back around him. His chest heaves, lugs exploding as the burning air forces its way in. It leaves ashes on his tongue and in his throat; he’s breathing, yet at the same time he feels like that he can’t breathe. 

His spine snaps upwards, and is so tight that it wedges uncomfortably between each individual rib. 

The alabaster lights of the lab are too much. They pound into his sable pupils, demanding to be seen. They’re way too bright. 

And then, he’s chocking up words. They stumble drunkly off his tongue, smashing together, “W-what? That’-s-s ridiculous! W-why would I-I like h-hi-im?” The last of the air that trails out shivers and curls into a unhumorous laugh. She shrugs, tongue popping out. 

Her lack of reaction oddly calms him, grounding him. 

“I don’t like him.” His arms defensively jump back to his front. He takes a step back towards the table, momentarily glancing down at his crimson shoes. 

“The more you deny it, the worse you’re making it. Trust me it’s a lot easier to accept it and then obsess over him. Step one is letting them know you’re interested.” She waggles her thin onyx brows at him.

He shakes his head roughly, his goggles crinkling the sides of his bag. He plops down onto the stool behind him. “Well I don’t.” 

“All right then I guessss you won’t care,” she pauses slightly, “if I go tell Black Hat!” Her mouth hangs open; she looks up as her lungs howl and drag in a long deep breath. Her legs turn to a blur of red and mahogany stripes as she takes off to a sprint. “BLACK HAT FLU-“ 

Flug jumps out of his chair, arms waving so violently he fears his gloves are going to soar off. “Okay! Okay!” 

She spins back around by using the pads of her feet, head thrown back and eyes unblinking. All though upside-down her lips appear to be frowning, he knows she isn’t. 

Gradually he lowers his throbbing arms back to his sides. 

“Okay,” he exhales, shoulders sagging. 

If Demencia did get to Black Hat, then he would definitely be able to see right through him. Then he would either get killed, or endlessly teased and manipulated about the situation. And both would be equally bad. 

“I’d rather have you trash the lab, or ruin another invention of mine. Fine, you can borrow,” he stresses this, and Demencia bites her lip to cut off a squeal. He continues, “some of my clothes. Who knows what you want with them.” He shrugs, learning it was best just not to ask with her. With her, explanations never come short and simple. They are winding, confusing, and just leave to headaches. 

She grins for the umpteenth time, but then again, when was she ever not smiling? She clutches her hands in front of her, rocking on the heels of her toes. “I knew you’d come through. Tonight I’ll leave my clothes on your bed.” 

She turns, a bounce in her step and her chartreuse fluffy hair swinging behind her as she headed towards the pearl doors. Flug blanches, her last words rolling through his brain. “Whoa, wait, what?” She turns her head, legs halting. “Yeah, you wouldn't want to walk around without clothes, would you?” She arches her brow at him. 

He laughs lightly. “I have more in my closet than just this outfit Demencia.” 

“Well yeah, but if you wore that there’d be two Flug’s running around; so no one would be me.” She giggles. 

Flug can already feel the pounding of his head. The fast moving thoughts he can’t place along with pure heaviness ram against the sides of his heads, making him groan. 

He plops down, almost regretting what he is about to say, but knowing that it is necessary. “Okay what? You’re expecting me to wear your clothes? What exactly is your plan?” His hands run along with his words, emphasizing them. 

His pupils trace down her outfit. The further he goes down the more sweat that gathers at his temples and bleeds through his hat. How does one have so many accessories? 

The skirt is going to be extremely short on him…

No, no way! He wouldn't even be able to look like her anyways; it is impossible. 

“Well, Black Hat is always around you.” She takes a step closer to him, shifting her weight from foot to foot. He blinks. Then blinks again. He’s expecting more, and watches her lips. For them to part, for her to breathe, anything. When nothing happens and she stares, unblinking, his thoughts are confirmed that this is going to be a long conversation. 

He slouches forwards, resting his head in his hands. The crinkling of his bag tears through the silence. “Well, yes, I do make the inventions for him” She shakes her head, nose scrunching. She exhales sharply, opening her mouth to make a retort and then stopping herself. She inhales before going onto continue her previous train of thought. 

Huh, this really must be important for her since she actually sopped a potential argument. Flug perks up a tad, removing his head from his hands. 

“And Valentines day is in two days and I need a date with him. So since he's always around YOU and never wants to be around ME, I’m going to pretend to be you to get the chance to talk to him.” She grins at the end, chin tilting upwards. 

He snickers, shaking his head. “That’s crazy! One, we never talk,” she opens her mouth and he holds his hands out, “okay okay, we never carry a positive conversation; and two, you don't sound anything like me.” He nods to himself, leaning back on the stool. His back digs into the edge of the obsidian table, and he removes the pressure off his back slightly by putting his elbows behind him on the counter of the table.  
Demencia rolls her lips, “Psh, ha that’s easy!” 

Her spine drops, and she holds her arms out in front of her. She makes them tremble; she crouches into herself, peering up through the lashes of her overly widened eyes.“U-um Black Hat s-ir um the invention is not done yet. I’m s-so so-or-rry! I swear it will b-be done by the end of the day! P-pl-ease don’t h-hurt me! I’m so sorry!” Rose erupts horizontally across Flug’s face, wedging itself between his skin cells and scorching his pale skin. It leaks through his bag, staining it. “I-I don't sound like that!” His voice cracks at the end, and he hisses as his shoulders shoot upwards.

She cackles, leaning all her weight into her palms that now rest on her knees. “It was spot on!” She breaks off into more barking; Flug groans as she takes her leisurely time with composing herself. Once she finally does she straightens, smirk somehow on her redend face as she wipes the tears from the corners of her eyes. “And I know I could get a couple more words in with Black Hat than you could.” She ends, smirk more in-depth now because with how deep it seemed to be cutting into her cheek. 

“But that means, I’d have to take off my bag.” He fiddles with the bottom of his bag, wearily glancing up at her.

She smirks, peering at the wrinkles in his marigold gloves from how tightly he is clutching this hat. His safety net, hiding his true identity. Her smirk grows, veins bubbling and skipping because she is finally going to be able to see what the doctor has been hiding! “Yep. An added bonus.”

He throws his hands down and away from him, frowning. “Why does this require ME to trade clothes with you? Is he really going to wonder where you are?” 

She takes the last final steps, and since he is looking down again he watches her determined expression through the marble floor. Even in the sea of the shades of black on the floor he can see her iris glowing and sharpening. Her hands thud down on each side of him, and she leans in close. From her force the stool swivels, but because her feet are firmly planted and arms stiff, the still rocks back into place. “Yes! It won’t work unless you trade because, come on, if you didn't see me for a day it would be super suspicious. I’m always around.” At the last thought she smirks once more, her determination dulling as she thinks back to all the times she had watched the doctor through the lab’s vents. He had looked around, clearly feeling eyes on him, but not knowing where to look to find them.

More sweat trickles down his forehead, and he attempts to lean back, but all it serves to do is strain the backs of his arms and dig his spine more into the table’s edge. “Erm, yeah. Well why can’t I just clone yo-“ 

She removes her hands to slam them down once more. “Because that’s going to take too long! Valentines day is in two days! So tomorrow I have to make my move!” 

Flug straightens as much as he can until his head comes dangerously close to colliding with her chin. “So you're going to pretend to be me to get a date Black Hat? That’s never going to work, and besides even if by some miraculous chance it did, he would think I'm you.”

He nods to himself. He got her now. 

“Well duh yeah,” she shrugs, taking a step back. Her palms remain on each side of his thighs. “But then once we have a great time I rip off the bag and he would learn that he had been having an amazing time with me all along, and fall in love with me!”Flug glances down at her mismatched shoes, mumbling, “Or be livid that you lied to him…” 

“It won’t matter, love will blind him.” She sighs, looking off in the distance as wax pools over her pupils. “Heh, yeah right. Black Hat and love do not mix, evil and love don’-” Demencia leaps back, thrusting her hand out. “So we have a deal?” 

“It isn't going to-“ He cuts himself off, groaning. There’s no use in fighting Demencia. She's far too stubborn, and always gets what she wants. Besides, she wouldn't stop pestering until he said yes; and she has blackmail material. 

That doesn't mean he still isn't going to try and bring some logic to light, though. 

“okay even then I look nothing like you. What about your ear? Mine doesn't have a chunk missing.” He would remove his bag to prove this to her, but that would mean revealing his cheek and… he can’t do that. Not until he has to. 

Her fangs pop out, glistening. “Well that can be arranged, I can just bite one of yours of-”

He throws himself backwards, one hand clutching his bag while the other holds onto the table. His side now digs into the table, chest heaving a bit. “No way!”  
She giggles, “Well most the time my hood covers them, so that will be fine. Black Hat won’t even be paying attention to you!” 

Flug glances down at his lap, resting his hangs onto his jeans. His left hand inches to his lab coat, threading through the lapels of it. “My face, erm, I have burn scars on it. All on my left cheek, it’s all red and bumpy. Down the side of my neck as well.” He quickly changes the subject, “And besides my eyes are both gre-” 

She's back, invading his personal space once more. “Whoa! So that’s why you wear the bag? I thought you were just really ugly, or secretly a monster.” He deadpans, but regardless she continues, “ And I have makeup, and colored contacts.” 

Flug desperately searches for something, anything, to point out anymore of the many gaping holes in her weak plan. Something to talk her out of it. 

Sadly, he comes up with nothing. 

He narrows his eyes at her dancing pupils. “Really?” 

She nods so violently it hurts the doctor’s head. “See? It’s the perfect plan!” 

He can’t believe he is about to actually agree with this.

He whimpers, throwing his hand out. “Fine. But just tomorrow, that’s it.” She squeals, gripping his hand to pull him into a hug. Then she rests one hand on his shoulder, shoving him backwards. Flug’s vision sways from all the rough movements.

“And on Valentines day, when I get my date, if it’s needed.” Flug sighs, staring straight across to her navy blue tank top. The tank top he’s going to have to wear… oh great. “All right, d-deal.” Demencia grabs his left glove, wrapping her digits around his wrist as she stares straight into his googles as she turns his arm to a limp noodle. 

Doctor Flug swears he can feel pure evil seeping into his blood and poisoning the rich cherry with oily charcoal. 

Why do bad things always happen to him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think; feedback fuels me :) 
> 
> I have the next chapter drafted, I just have to add detail between the dialogue... so it will be out really soon.
> 
> If there's any errors, let me know and I will fix them! I'm sure there's some because I'm posting this at 1 am and am exhausted. 
> 
> My tumblr: paperhattt


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here! This took me a lot longer than I thought it was going to. Thank you all so much for the incredible feedback. You have all been so nice and supportive and I have loved reading all of your comments! 
> 
> Thank you to @illsaveyouhatty2 on tumblr who helped me by making a suggestion for what Demencia would smell like. This chapter came out to 9,800+ words so it's a lot longer. I spent more time on it so I feel it's more detailed than the first chapter, but I hope it's not too much to where it makes the text drag on and boring. 
> 
> I'm so nervous about posting this aha I hope you all like the ending. Writing Black Hat was a lot more daunting than I thought it would be, so I hope he's in character.

For the umpteenth time since this morning, Flug’s bare fingers tug down on the bottom of his ink skirt, hips shimming as he does so. Through the gap between his arm and hip he can make out Demencia’s lump form on her bed, lying face first in her puffy sea-foam green sheets. She doesn’t have his bag or coat on yet. All she has on are his jeans, shirt, and one of his shoes on one foot. The other foot has one of his socks half hanging limply off it. 

His blurred focus snaps back to his abdomen. The dark edges previously around his vision erupt in artificial yellow from the dull lights circling around the violet frame of her mirror. Some of the small bulbs have died completely, others are smashed, and occasionally a bulb will be missing from the light strand completely. 

Regardless of them not being that bright, it still sears the sides of his irises from being so close to them. 

His goggles are a bit like shades, and mute a lot of light so it’s not so harsh. 

Man he misses his goggles. 

No, what he really misses is his bag. 

Not only is the light intensity irritating— he knows the blazing chiffon lights in his lab are going to blind him later— but the air. Is it always so cold? 

There’s an actual breeze roaming the house; and it’s brisk, staining his new apparel. Most of it seems to be attracted to his face, though. Crap his cheeks and ears are freezing! His cheeks are dusted in icy rose; and even though the tops of his ears are concealed behind the green wig extension, he knows from the intense burning they are a blood cherry. 

His body wracks upwards in a violent shiver, and he crosses his arms once more. The leather biker gloves offer no warmth since they leave his fingers bare; what is the point of them? 

And the ripped stalking on his left leg keeps bunching up and won’t stay down! His fingers stray down to the torn mahogany and crimson legging, hauling it further down his goose-bumped thigh. The fabric scratches along his skin that resembles a dehydrated blueberry, and, of course, does nothing to quell the coloring and bring it back to his usual chiffon. 

But the worst of it is definitely his face. He feels so exposed. He’s used to feeling the most heat in his face because his humid breaths get trapped in his bag. He never minds the feeling; the heat brings him comfort. 

But this, the frigid rawness eating at his face… it just reminds him that his face is on full display. 

The outfit is bad, hell Demencia somehow got him to agree to shaving an area of his chest hair so that the triangle in her tank top didn't show it. And his chest hairs are blonde, they are barely noticeable! She even tried to persuade him into shaving his arms. 

Yet the bag missing is what makes him want to rip the outfit off and not do this. 

Even though he has to admit he looks a bit like Demencia, and definitely not like his usual self… his face is itching. 

His fingers desperately want to rub some heat into his face, because maybe that will help get rid of the electricity jolting his heart into a continuous sprint; but he knows doing so would rub off all the makeup Demencia caked onto his face earlier. 

And then he would have to sit still for a whole hour all over again. 

With Demencia lingering so close he can see the flecks in her reptile eye, and breathing her morning breath all over his face. 

His nose scrunches at the too vivid memory, his nose hairs curling into themselves; and, yeah, he’s not touching his face. 

He didn't think Black Hat would invest so much into air conditioning… but then again, he lived in the house as well. And air was something that affected him, and Black Hat will splurge money if it’s on himself. 

Flus exhales roughly, settling for rubbing his hands along his shoulders. Sparks of mild warmth coil around and lap at his frosted veins. Occasionally the spiked bracelet around his wrist scratches down his arm, leaving porcelain lines in its trace; but it’s worth it. 

Behind him Demecia's body rises, her shoulders burying into her neck. She pauses, and then emits a loud groan. The longer it goes on, the more her body sags, until her body is back flat against her mattress. The growl trails on, but weakens into cracks, and the volume is drowned out by her pillow. 

Moments later she turns her head so that her complaint isn’t muffled by her lime pillow case. “I can’t believe you get up this early!” 

He glances at her through the mirror, catching her half-lidded eyes, and laughs. “I’m normally up way earlier than this.” Usually three hours earlier, just to get a head start on everything. 

The doctor got up two hours ago, taking awhile to persuade Demencia to get up. Once he reminded her of what they were doing she shot up, excitement temporarily erasing her tiredness. But once she completed his makeup she flopped back down on her bed, and hasn't gotten up since. Flug turns back to look at her limp figure, knowing how important it is for Demencia to hear what he is about to say. “Black Hat will be up in about twenty minutes; so it is crucial that you are in the lab by then, or else he will know that something’s up.” 

Groggily she leans her weight on her elbows, shakily rising up to sit on her knees. She rubs her eyes with her pointer fingers in circular motions. Once she’s settled she turns her head to him. “Right. And the inventions done, right?” She sits on the edge of her bed, tying his cobalt shoes on her feet lazily. 

The doctor nods, shifting his weight from foot to foot as the electricity in his heart courses harder and singes his cells. He can’t believe he is actually going to do this. “Yes yes, I’ll show you how to work it once we get done there. It’s very simple.” He made sure of it the night before so that there is no room for errors. 

There’s no way he is going to be at fault when this plan goes to hell. 

Demencia rolls on her side, leaping out of her bed. Her famous smirk yanks at the edge of her lip, so deeply that a fang pops out. 

She whistles, standing in front of him. Slowly she circles him, stare so torrid that Flus can feel it melting his shoulders into his chest. Demencia halts roughly in front of him, hand snatching the collar of his— technically her— shirt. 

The doctor trips over his own feet, ramming into her. “H-hey careful!” 

She rolls her eyes, taking a step back, but keeping her tight grip on the shirt. “It won’t break, it isn't cheap.” 

She grins, fingers wiggling as she raises her other hand. He flinches back, jolting when he feels her cold thumb and pointer finger on the exposed triangular area of his bare chest. She squints at it, then pinches at an area and lunges her hand back. Flus squeaks, chest blemishing in pinching pain and immediately aching. “D-demencia!” He chokes out, water immediately brimming at the rims of his eyes. It bubbles in the corners of his eyes, and he fights to keep them from spilling over. Stupid makeup. 

Demencia holds a strand of his chest hair right between his eyes, making him momentarily go cross-eyed before his vision focuses. As quick as it minimizes on his chest hair, Demencia’s hand soars away. She rests his chest hair on the pad of her thumb, cheeks filling with whistling nitrogen before she roughly blows the hair away.

She turns back to him, gaping grin flashing her rows of sharp teeth at him. “Missed a spot.” She bounces her shoulders, consonants coated in innocence as she bats her lashes at him. 

He glowers at her, and then turns back to the mirror. He adjusts the lizard hood, pulling it snuggly around his ears. 

Demencia slaps him roughly between his shoulder blades, dangerously close to sending him soaring into her mirror. 

“Lookin’ good Doc’!” 

Flug’s glare harshens, drawing his spine up to face her. Out of habit his hands reach to pull his lab coat tighter around him, but once he feels nothing but the bitter air he remembers whose clothes he is wearing. 

He bites out, “Of course you would think so, I’m dressed in your clothes.”

But then it hits him that she actually think he looks good in her outfit. He peers at her expression and the sparkle in her eyes and soft creases in the corners of her mouth is proof she is actually being genuine. 

He alters his attention back to the mirror, actually looking at the outfit on his form. And, well, his face isn’t freezing anymore. 

Behind him Demencia snickers, ruining her tender expression. “Careful not to blush too much, or else you’ll MELT the make up off!” She cackles wildly at her own pun, hugging her arms around his broken plane shirt. 

His heart quickens, and he frowns, leaning closer into the mirror to examine his face again. He tries to focus on his face, but the sheer paleness of it doesn't help.

He watches his knuckles bleed white from his tightening grip on the mirror’s frame. His burn mark howls under the artificial powders and liquids, sheathing its nails to shred his cells. It makes the remains of his cells erupt into ebony clouds of poisons that flee to his head; and force him back to the memory he tries his hardest to shove away and just forget… but it always finds some way to squeeze to the front of his mind, even in his dreams. 

Always just as vivid as the day it all happened. 

The navy carpet— getting steadily consumed into crisps— rubbing harshly against his right cheek and forearms as he crawled and reached out, fingers only met with pure boiling humidity. 

The tangerine embers floating peacefully amongst the chaos, through the thick eye-watering inducing clouds. 

So much smoke. 

Every sensation getting burned in new excruciating ways: carpet burns, flames, not being able to breathe… yet even when he did breathe, it still made his nose hairs singe and his ashy lungs slump. 

Holy crap he can’t breathe. It’s so hot. Even hotter than before. 

Sucking in a deep breath through his nose— he swears it burns he can taste cinders staining his tastebuds— his vision bores into his reflection. His focus whips from his cheek that is not engulfed in flames, to his eyes whose irises are almost completely taking over his pupils. He hangs his head, the lizard eyes of his hood covering his eyes. It brings some sort of comfortable familiarity akin to his bag, but at the same time none, because it isn’t the same. It’s furry and reeks of artificial sour blue raspberries, watermelons, and lemons. 

He shakes his head, fake bangs dangling in front of his nose. 

His mind hops to the first memory he can think of. 

Flug’s mind mocks him by reminding him of just an hour before when Demencia had been wide awake, tracing his burn marks and exclaiming how awesome they were. Before this she had spent the five minutes squealing about how adorable he is and squeezing him until his limbs went numb. 

The burn marks are still stinging, and subconsciously his fingers skip along the scar racing down the back of his neck. 

“Don’t touch it!” Her squeal catches up to his fingers first. They automatically cringe and surge off his neck, standing stiffly out in front of him. 

She races over, squinting at his neck, before nodding. She had put makeup there as well for good measures since the hair does shift around on her, occasionally showing her neck or ears. 

The ruby crackled blemishes would be a dead giveaway, after all. 

“You’ve gotta admit I did a great job covering them, you can hardly see them.” Demencia’s strong simper droops to a heavy lipped pout. “All though it really sucks, they’re so cool. I wish I had some!” 

Heh, no you don’t. Outwardly, Flug shakes his head at her and shields away once more back to his reflection. 

Demencia takes this as the doctor agreeing with her previous statement, boisterously allowing her beam to wreck her face once more. 

He did have to admit she did a good job. It was strange looking into the mirror and his scars, just, being gone. 

And the layers of makeup, lip gloss, and fake lashes on top of that indubitably are a foreign sight on his face as well. 

But somehow, it isn’t completely obvious he isn’t Demencia. 

Black Hat might actually be fooled.

He pulls down the lizard hat snugly and adjusts the hot pink bangs peeking out of the hood. As he tugs down his skirt one last time he turns fully to Demencia. “Let’s do this while I have the courage to walk outside like this,” He pauses, wiping at the perspiration sticking to his forehead and plastering his bangs down. The wig sticks to the back of his neck, causing it to start and itch. From all the humiliation he’s suddenly blistering hot. “I don't know how you do this hood and the hair constantly brushing against my neck and back. It’s sweltering.”

Demencia has his bag in her hand, something she had taken off the minute she had it on. “Hey right back at you. All the heat gets trapped around your head, no wonder you’re so uptight all the time; you can’t breathe!” She sucks in air exaggeratedly, eyes widening. She gasps up at the ceiling, before thrusting the bag over her head. “I’m starting to feel trapped.” Her voice is muffled, and moments later she is lifting the bottom of the bag to reveal her parting lips that are desperately sucking in nitrogen. 

Flug smirks, “Changed your mind?” Then it wilts a tad as a breeze of air conditioning whispers across his lips, reminding him that his expression can actually be seen. He can feel the sweat building at his temples again. 

With two hands she grips his jeans she’s borrowing, hoisting them further up on her hips. “You wish! Come on!” 

Before he can blink his hand is being clutched in her gloved one, and his vision is turned to spirals of blacks and reds that attack so viciously on his irises they water. Demencia’s legs move in a rush of indigo, her arm seeming to be extended further than humanly possible to drag Flug far behind her. 

5.0.5 balances a tray of steaming coffee and an almond croissant pastry, and as Flug turns his head the bear is brought into focus and slowed down amongst the mixed colors. He turns to them, expression twisting in pure confusion. 

Then the world tilts jaggedly, not being able to be comprehended by the doctor once more. 

Flug looks down, immediately regretting it when all he sees is obsidian, whites, blues, and reds. Regardless, he drags his heels on the ground. “Whoa whoa wait Demenc- erm Flug!” His hand wretches Demencia’s wrist from the hand that is tugging him. “This is never something I’d do, you have to stay in character if you want this to work!” 

Dementia doesn't stop, and the doctor isn't even sure if she heard him. They sharply round the corner leading to the door of the lab; and luckily do so just in time to see Black Hat’s coat tails vanishing through the lab’s door. 

“Crap! He’s early!” The stark vowels wobble out of his mouth before he can stop them. 

This time Demencia is the one to thrust the heels of his shoes into the ground, rubber burning and yowling out in a high pitch. 

He trips over Demencia’s feet, who grabs his arms before he can fall. She whips him around and leaves him to smash against her. She crushes his forearms between her fingers, hissing at him through her teeth. Saliva spews across his face, and he flinches, leaning back as far as he can.

“You sabotaged me!” She shoves him away and he stumbles back, hands thrown out in front of him. He steadies his trembling arms out, hardly managing to catch himself. 

“W-what no!” He straightens a bit, but remains a cautious distance from her. She has yanked his bag up past her lips earlier, and continues to hold the bag up far enough to reveal her blazing eyes now. 

He takes a step closer, clenching his fists. He took off his bag for her, is wearing a skirt, and let her put make up on him and shave him! He isn't going to take this. “Well if you would've been up earlier-“ 

She shakes her head, and in one motion drops the bag back over her face. It lies crumpled and slanted over her chin. “We have to go in he's going to be super suspicious now.”

Flug scoffs lightly; of course she changed the subject. She knows he’s right.

“It’s already ruined,” He roughly exhales. There’s no point in doing this now; it has all been for absolutely nothing. His heart has slowed, something obese sitting on top of it and weighting it down; and pulling his ribs tighter against his walking heart. “I’m never late. Not once have I ever been, because even on mornings I run late, I am always there before Black Hat.” 

“Well,” Demencia straightens the bag, attempting to straighten the creases out with the palm of her hand. “today you are.” With one last tug downwards on the bag, she struts towards the grey door of the lab. 

Flus gapes, jumping. “Demenci-Flu-ugh just wait! You don't know how the invention work-“ She vanishes inside, not once looking back to him. He growls again, running his palms down his face. “Augh Demencia!” 

Then he gasps. “Oh crap makeup!” He flings his hands in front of him, checking them. The gloves are still a rich black, and his fingers alabaster. 

Hopefully his face is fine. 

He glances around, hands quivering. Should he go in? Demencia is never up at this time… but he has to, because Demencia doesn't know how to work the invention! But how is he supposed to show her with Black Hat in there?

Flug paces along the hallway, glancing down at his mismatched shoes. His mind rushes him to make a decision now, because he’s loosing time, and Black Hat could come walking out at any moment! He can probably sense that someone is out in the hall!

He hears footsteps behind him and freezes, limbs falling motionless. This is it, he’s screwed. 

The doctor waits to hear if the voice will speak. It has to be Black Hat. 

When nothing happens he slowly turns, teeth clenched. 

5.0.5 is behind him, narrowing his eyes at him with scrunched brows. 

Flug’s shoulders sags, and he feels insanely stupid for not knowing it was 5.0.5 when he saw him just moments earlier. 

He forces the largest grin he can muster, thrusting his canine teeth forwards. “Hiya ya big bear you!” 

His voice squeaks out, and immediately he can feel his cheeks burning. He groans. That was not at all good. The voice, nor the statement. He sounds nothing like Demencia. 

Looks like he won’t be talking then… which will be a dead give away. Demencia never shuts up.

5.0.5’s eyes widen, grip on the plate he’s nursing almost slipping. 

He giggles, staring up through his fake lashes at the bear. “Heh, I'm not feeling so hot?” 

5.0.5 smiles, shoulders shaking and eyes crinkling. 

Flug exhales, dropping the grin. 

He was insane for thinking this could ever really work in the first place. 

“Okay it’s me Flug, which you already clearly know, but you can’t tell Black Hat,” he frowns. “Well you couldn’t really if you tried, I guess.” 

5.0.5 nods once, simper unwavering. Readjusting his grip on the pearl tray, he turns around and uses his back to push the lab door open. 

Knowing this is his only opportunity he could not be noticed, he yanks his skirt down as he closely follows behind 5.0.5 and slips into the lab. 

He was right. The first thing to hit him are the brightness of the lights, and his eyes ache. He is forced to squint to adjust to the room, and creeps to one of the tables near the wall of the lab. He keeps his front facing Black Hat and Demencia, and once his vision sharpens he is met with Black Hat holding Demencia up by the collar of her shirt. Somehow she managed to grab his lab coat off the coat hanger near the door, and it now hangs off her shoulders. 

“Just show me how you work it!” He shakes her once, hoisting her up even higher. If it had been Flug under his grip, the collar of his shirt would have been cutting off the circulation in his neck. But since the shirt’s a bit baggier on Demencia, it doesn't do so on her. 

Demencia’s head turns, eyes widening through her goggles. If it were any other instance Flug would have laughed at seeing Demencia’s expression so cut off, yet at the same time managing to be her usual dramatic self with just the flicker of her pupils. Her eyes land on Flug, lids vanishing completely as her chiffon irises absorb her pupils. She tilts her head and directs her eyes downwards to the side, before snapping her head and eyes back to him. He follows her line of sight; in her hand is his invention, a small remote with a spiraled antenna popping out of it, lingering between her fingers. 

The demanding question circles around the lenses of her goggles. 

Great. How is he supposed to explain how to work it now? 

Quickly Flug raises his quavering arms, Demencia’s eyes following his motions. Beside her Black Hat continues to glower at her, eyes blazing. 

With Flug’s hands he traces a box, the remote, with his pointer fingers. Then he takes his thumb and pointer finger, spinning them away from the box to signal that he’s talking about the antenna. He sharply twists the invisible spiraled metal in his hands, then roughly jams his finger down in the center of the box, hoping that Demencia knows he’s talking about the button that is there. 

After a moment she cocks her head at him. 

Yeah, they’re screwed. 

Black Hat rattles her, both hands around her shirt this time. “What is wrong with-“ 

Demencia snaps her focus back to him, arms coiling in her chest as her fingers splay out. “I-i’m sorry boss! If you’ll ju-just let me d-down I’ll sh-how y-you!” She splutters. 

A noise of complaint rakes up Black Hat’s throat, and he lets it bubble through his jagged teeth as he drops her.

She jumps up from the marble floor without missing a beat, invention thrusted out in front of her. “Yyy’oookkaayyyy.” She walks the word across her tongue torturously sluggishly, glancing at Flug. 

Black Hat has broken away from her, now standing in the center of his camera stand. “Come on Dr. Flug you're wasting space on the camera, just show these fellow villains how my intention works.” The spitting statement whispers through the slants between his fangs. 

The doctor repeats his earlier motions more sharply, but all Demencia does is stare blankly at him. 

A wail punches up his throat, and he looks up at the ceiling, shoving it with all he has down to erupt in his stomach. 

Glaring he gradually goes through the motions more detailed, thankful that by some miracle Black Hat hasn’t seen him doing this yet. He thinks the camera is blocking him, and perhaps the light stands behind the cameras blinding him from Black Hat’s view. He doesn't really know. All he knows is that, for once, he is having some luck. 

He drops his hands, hoping this time Demencia got it.

She bounces her shoulders, waving her finger up high before slamming it down on the button. 

Flug’s palm flies up to his face, halting mere inches away from his nose. His lungs ache from the screams he is keeping back and he bites his tongue, head thrown back to gawk at the ceiling once more. 

Silence ensues. 

Nothing happens. 

Resisting the strong urge to stomp his foot harshly into the ground, he rapidly hunches, hands swooping to form the remote and antenna for the umpteenth time. He widens his arms, making his gestures huge and dramatic. Around him he can feel the scorching flames fluttering off him and boiling the air around him. 

Because of the sultry weight weighing his chest down and burning his lungs, he forgets his place for a moment. 

But when he, thankfully, feels another eye on him, his veins run dry as he comes back to the situation at hand. All he sees is Black Hat’s crimson eye, and he doesn't even register his expression. He jolts, turning around and ramming into the table near him. He fights to keep down the thrashing of his chest and keep his tremors at bay. 

The flames he feels are different now, they still char his organs, yet cool them at the same time and make his sizzling blood trudge through thick ice. 

He can feel his blood not knowing what to do, stuck between fleeing to and from his face. 

Part of him wants to leave, and another to admit to what Black Hat most likely already knows. Even through all the makeup Flug feels like his scars are igniting and on full display. They scratch at his cheekbones and he swears he can feel someone staring at them. One hand reaches up to dab at the top of his forehead, trying to stop the beads of sweat before they lick up his makeup. 

With his other shaking hand he grabs a pen, popping the top off and barely manages to catch it before it slips to the floor. 

Using the palm of his clammy hand he slams it on a sheet of white paper on the table, using his sweat to haul the sheet towards him. Hurriedly he draws out the steps of how to work his invention, jade lines wiggling out. 

5.0.5, who has been on the opposite side of the lab witnessing everything, luckily decides to intervene. Purposefully stepping out in front of the camera, he smiles and blinks down at a fuming Black Hat. 

“What are you-“ Black Hat waves his hands as 5.0.5 blocks the camera entirely. 5.0.5 stands firmly in his place as he extends the trey out to Black Hat, smiling as he tilts his head slightly. 

Black Hat groans, throwing his head back before snapping it forwards to glower at the bear. “I swear you are all useless!” He directs his steaming eyes back to Demencia. “We’ll do another take in a minute, and I swear if you don't know what you're doing when I press the record button-“ 

Demencia jolts away from him. “I’m s-sorry sir I know wh-what I'm doing I'm j-just a bit tired that’s all.” She rubs the back of her neck, knee bent into her other kneecap as she leans away from Black Hat. 

He narrows his eye at her, snatching his mug of coffee away from the tray held by the, still grinning, 5.0.5. He slowly takes a sip, eyes slipping shut momentarily as the blistering coffee coats his throat. 

Roughly exhaling, through his nose so it won’t draw Black Hat’s attention, he gently lifts the written instructions into the air. 

Luckily Demencia catches sight of the paper fairly quick, squinting at it before nodding and shooting him a thumbs up. 

Flug’s teeth clench at her being so care-free when Black Hat is right besides her! But she has always had that incredible luck. Because the second her thumb is lowered, Black Hat’s eyes are back on her. 

He sets his coffee down on 5.0.5’s tray, shooing him away with the flick of a wrist. “Okay, take two.” The sentence is a pure growl, and even from a distance Flug can see the shivers it sends up her spine.

And they aren't the bad kind. 

However she hastily remembers who she is supposed to be, and returns to playing his role by shrinking into her self. 

The sudden midnight finger pointing at the doctor, however, successfully throws characterization out the window once more for Flug. 

He jolts; and the paper in his hands, that was luckily lowered, sprints on the table behind him. He tries to catch and ground his limbs as quickly as he can after the immediate screech of Dementcia never jolts barrages his thoughts. 

“And if you interrupt us.“ Black Hat frowns at him in warning, somehow not noticing “Demencia’s” strange behavior. 

Flug makes himself smirk the largest he can muster, outputting all the mischief in his system, shaking his head. 

Black Hat narrows his eyes at him, then turns back to Demencia. 

“Now, tell me how to work this thing works so when I hit record I won't have to edit even more later.” 

Demencia nods. From the bounciness of the motion it could be perceived as nervous energy, but Flug knows it’s eagerness. 

And that’s how he knows they're about to be even more screwed. 

“Here hold it here,” her voice trails off as she wraps her own gloved hand around Black Hat’s to seal his over the remote. “and twist the pole on top,” She swallows down her giggles as her hands whisper over the motions. “then press that button down.” She firms her grasp on his hand, staring right into Black Hat’s cherry eye and monocle. 

Instantaneously Black Hat scowls, before his thin eyebrows sink downwards between his eyes, and cast shadows on his deepening frown. In the span of a single second he has snatched his hand away from her’s, yet managed to keep hold of the remote. Only the ghosts of a much larger fire brewing inside his chest erupts and disintegrates his pupils. It shatters his molecule as he looms over a motionless Demencia whose arm now claps around nothing in front of her. Tentacles shoot behind him, serving in rising him off the ground, and his teeth climb in rows out of his mouth on full display. Saliva drips and burns the floor below him. 

Flug would've cringed for the state of the lab’s floor if he wasn’t scared out of his physical mind. 

And Black Hat’s anger isn't even directed at him this time! Well… technically. 

Full tremors wrack down his frame because, he can’t help it, no matter how many times he sees him transform, it’s horrifying. It defies all logic. It shouldn't be possible, and each time reminds Flug that Black Hat is definitely not a man, regardless of his gentlemen front. 

“Never,” The voice is demonic, drenched in crimson. “touch me.” 

Demencia slinks backwards, apparently not having to feign her fear this time. Once she gives a weak nod Black Hat slumps back to his usual height, molecule magically fixed. 

As usual, however, she’s shrugging as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred, and Flug can practically see her smirk from behind the bag. After her short lasting apprehension with Black Hat’s anger fits, wonderment always strikes her. 

Black Hat is now staring at him. 

He can’t help the tension that edges between his shoulder blades, and he tries to output coolness as he turns around. The sweat pouring down his temples ruins this affect. 

Immediately he’s cursing his decision because Demencia would have never broken eye contact with Black Hat first! He should have at least winked, or did something!He needs to do something. 

Flug twitches and moves his legs as he stands taunt, figuring it’s all right since Dementia never stands still. Another mistake he’s been making this entire time. 

What does she do before she starts breaking stuff? She wanders… but doing what? Just touching stuff? That sounds right, her dirty fingerprints are always staining everything around the lab. 

He draws his spine back, but keeps his shoulders somewhat leaned back. 

Even he can tell he looks awkward. 

Hesitantly he turns around and begins to takes his first steps, refusing to look down at his shoes. He keeps his eyes trained on the grey carts at the back of the lab where organisms and lab equipment lies. He can feel the air stuffed in his lungs, and slowly lets it trickle out of his nose. The doctor starts to strut, attempting to shove the fact that he’s in a skirt and without a bag in a room with his boss in it out of his mind.

“Don’t move or else you're going to get in the shot!” Black Hat turns his head to shout at Flug, and Flug is proud of managing to hold back most of his jolt. However he still widened his eyes. Inwardly his stomach twists into itself. 

Black Hat’s eye lightens and his lips scrunch into a broad smirk. His eyes flicker down Flug’s outfit and… there’s no way he doesn't know now. 

But if he did know wouldn't he say something? 

Flug’s mind yowls at him to actually do something this time. He shrugs, and continues on his path to the lab carts. Bubbles pour in his veins and he bites his lip to keep back snickers because he has never went against one of Black Hat’s orders before. It feels refreshing… but then again, he purposefully keeps to the walls to keep out of the camera’s shot. So he isn't really doing anything that rebellious. 

Once he reaches the carts he piers at the glass jars, skimming his hands over them. Out of the corners of his eyes he watches Black Hat addressing the camera and demonstrating his invention. 

He shoots a potted Aloe Vera plant, azure lighting dancing around the tangled spiked leafs. The invention wilts the heavy leafs, but before they can hit the floor they intertwine into hissing snakes. With swirling canary eyes they turn to Black Hat, awaiting his order as to what to do now. 

Demencia opens her mouth, most likely to give the snakes the order, but lucky for her Black Hat doesn't notice and speaks over her. “Snakes, attack 5.0.5.” He simpers, and Flug is flinching in sympathy for the poor bear before the snakes are even off. 

The snakes charge at the, oblivious, 5.0.5 who is still holding the food tray. He lets loose a confused noise before he sets the tray down on the lab table and yowls, racing out of the lab. The snakes are at his heels, and Flug knows there’s no way 5.0.5 will be able to outrun them. He steadily walks back to the front of the lab. He knows if he can get his hand on that remote he can still track the bear down and at least transform the snakes back before they can do any real damage. 

Meanwhile, Demencia howls in laughter. Black Hat gapes at her, and Flug would have turned back to stay hidden between the grey carts if he wasn’t already at the front of the lab. He keeps his stiff back to them and remains in front of the marble table he was previously at, pretending to read the green chalk board in front of him. 

Torrid oxygen takes over the laboratory. Demencia’s coughs conceal it momentarily as she tries to disguise her laughs. 

Black Hat snags his camera in a fluid motion, dumping it into his own shadow that sprawls out like a puddle in front of him. Flug isn't sure if it transports the camera to his office, or if his shadow works as some sort of storage device. 

“Well, what are you standing around for? Get to work.” He marches away from Dementia who is spluttering behind him, searching for any coherent strand of words to form a sentence to get him to stay longer. 

Flug whips all his focus to the green chalk board, scrambling to grip one of the pieces of chalk. Dust coats and sinks into the crevices of his skin cells along the exposed pads of his fingers; he hates the feeling. The lab table is a foot behind him now, and part of him wishes he had stayed by it so he had something to lean on. 

Oxygen is thinning and refusing to completely fill his lungs. 

The force behind him makes the little air he did have flee from him. He can feel the darkness before it even pours over his figure and splashes on the chalkboard in front of him. Black Hat’s shadow. 

His lungs shove upwards, straining for any murmur of a breeze. 

“You’ve been oddly quiet today,” His voice is so close the syllables buzz down his neck, tugging the hairs in its path up. “and you’re up early.” He leans even closer, words now heating and circling around the shell of his left ear. 

He manages to keep down the shudder, desperately missing his bag now.

Black Hat is standing right at his heels now, leaving the doctor trapped and unable to move even the slightest bit of muscle. Black Hat’s legs nudge the backs of his thighs. 

He can't breathe. 

If he does his back will hit Black Hat’s chest. 

The top of his hood buries deeper into Black Hats chest, and Flug almost jumps forwards. 

Instead he bounces his shoulders, mainly to break his tension; and also because he has no idea what to do. To buy time, and mainly to get away from the blistering heat of Black Hat’s form, he sets the chalk down in front of him.

They're so screwed. There’s no way he can’t know, he definitely knows. He doesn't talk to Demencia this way. He would never stop to address her or loom behind her!

Or maybe he’s overthinking this all? 

Black Hat hums, and Flug feels the vibrations of it traveling down the shell of his ear. 

Yeah, he isn’t. No way. 

“I like it. It’s refreshing to not hear your mouth blabbering.” Silent laughter weaves between his teeth and drowns in his saliva. 

Demencia splutters harder behind them, and Flug doesn't have to turn around to know this or see Black Hat’s widening smirk. 

“Here, you can have Flug’s pastry. He had his chance to grab it any ways.” Black Hat’s hand is on his shoulder, twisting him to face him. He has taken a small step back, the black tray now thrusted right in front of his face. 

Lucky for him Black Hat’s hand lingered on his shoulder, or else he would've went stumbling back into the chalk board. 

But then the actions and consonants filter in, and Flug doesn't know whether to be more stunned or offended. After all, he is still technically Demencia.

Slowly Flug takes the porcelain plate with his almond croissant on it, trying his best to still his shaking hands. 

He plasters a grin on his face because Demencia would love this to happen to her, right? Black Hat giving her something, especially something that belongs to someone else. His lips waver but he shoves through the definitely awkward smile. His cheeks already hurt from the strain; how does Demencia do this all the time? 

Somehow there’s more space on Black Hat’s smirk to grow on his face, teeth breaking through his lips. 

A large part of him expected Black Hat to leave. He never stays in the lab after filming, he’s always rushing to edit and post to get his profits sooner. 

But of course he remains glued where he is. “Oh go on, I insist, take a bite. I’m sure you must be starving.” 

Everyone knows the first thing Demencia does when she wakes up is race to the kitchen and shovel food down her throat. 

Flug blinks at him, grin drooping to a weak simper. He’s hungry, but… this is just a whole new level of strange. 

Out of the corner of his eye he catches Demencia wildly shaking her head and throwing her hands out in large motions. The fabric of the lab coat rustles and her arms turn to blurs of pure chiffon. 

He blinks, back tracking to when he’s seen this before. Not this moment, exactly, but the rapid motions of her arms with, what? Not almond croissants. 

Almonds!The large crimson bowl full to the brim with them flashes in his mind. When it was in the center of the table and 5.0.5 and him sat across from Demencia, them all sharing the almonds. 

Demencia hadn’t known what they were and tried one, immediately spewing it out all over the table. He still remembers the shriveled almond with its white insides exposed, and the bubbling saliva around it. 

He bites back a gag. 

It was disgusting. 

Demencia was livid Flug allowed her to even try it, at first believing he was pranking her because there was “no way anyone could like these things, they taste like dirt!” 

He ate one in front of her to prove he does indeed like almonds, and 5.0.5 did the same. 

Then she started chucking the almonds at them both, and for something so small they hurt a lot. 

Black Hat had walked in on this scene, and screeched about how she was wasting food. 

So Black Hat is testing him? Then maybe… he doesn't know? But how couldn't he? 

Is he stringing this on longer to make a fool of them? 

He stares at the top of his croissant, dusted in slivers of almonds. Inwardly his mouth is watering, but he shoves it all back to take a deep breath through his nose. 

He can’t take that chance, there’s still a slim chance Black Hat doesn't know. And if there’s hope he can save himself from more humiliation then… 

Well, here’s something he never thought he would do. 

Steadying his nerves he hurls the plate far across the lab. It knocks into something else, Flug doesn't have the courage to look, and glass smashes. Something rolls off a table, and bursts on the floor. Glass skitters and soars across the floor. 

The almond croissant bounces and lands on the floor several feet away from the doctor. 

He swallows back his squeaks and clenches his fist to keep in his cringes. That is going to be such a pain to clean up later. He also is clinging onto hopes that he didn't break anything too valuable. 

Nose scrunching he glares as intensely as he can at Black Hat. “You know I hate almonds!” He pitches his voice up as high as it can. It still isn't spot on, it’s pretty horrible, but he's at least glad it didn't crack this time. 

Black Hat’s gaze bores back, and it takes everything in Flug to not look away. His glare weakens. 

Black Hat arches a brow, fangs slipping out to bite the bottom of his lip. His ruby eye glistens, and he looks far from angry. “Demencia.” He bites her name out, and the vowels leak with sarcasm. 

He can practically hear the air quotes around her name. 

He needs his bag back to breathe into now. 

“Your voice sounds,” He trails off, tongue rolling to find the right words. His smirk is back, teeth shinning. “less irritating than usual.” 

Clouds of thick smoke erupt around Demencia’s head and ears, her face resembling bleeding cranberries that ooze through Flug’s bag. 

Black Hat places the tray down, finishing the last step to close the little space between Flug and him.

“Ah, I know what’s going on.” Black Hat glances between them both, before focusing his attention back on Flug. Demencia’s heated tension warps to a colder one, yet she tilts her head to study the pair closely. Flug, on the other hand, stands even stiffer in front of Black Hat. 

Oh man he knows. 

“You came in this morning to see me with it being, that stupid human holiday tomorrow. The one about-“ he grimaces, “that, Valentines day.” He avoids the L word, taking a tiny step back.

Demencia’s crisp exhale is so rough and long Flug can feel it coursing through his green hair extensions. 

The doctor really doesn't know what to say now. He peeks over at Demencia who is slumped over the lab table, smiling softly. 

Out of habit his hands reach to the bottom of his chin, jolting him back to reality when his fingers don’t meet paper. The air hits his cheeks cooler at the reminder of his face being out. His hands settle for skimming up to his hood instead, pulling it down a tad. 

“And that’s why you’re being so quiet. You are actually getting flustered. You want a date with me; I mean you always have.” He smirks and waves his hand dismissively. He takes a huge step forwards, but his eyes drift to, a now straight standing, Demencia. 

And that's when it all falls into place. 

Oh yeah, he knows. He definitely knows, probably has since the second he creeped into the door behind 5.0.5. 

Black Hat's hitting on him to spite her. 

He can’t believe he actually thought this would work. Nothing gets past Black Hat. 

The signs have been there since the beginning. Flug’s disappointed for not knowing himself sooner. Maybe the fear was clouding his mind? 

Or the hope? 

He almost shakes his head, but he has to play along. What else can he do? Demencia can at least be happy for a little bit, believing she one-upped Black Hat. 

When he can finally breathe—because the thick apprehension that has been building larger and larger at the pressure to attempt to stay in character is now gone—a raw aching pain has taken the place of his nerves. He shoves it down. The sooner he plays along, the sooner everything can go back to normal. 

Well, until Demencia blows up at Flug for managing to “steal” Black Hat’s attention as herself… and then again when she realizes Black Hat knows and was fooling her. But then she might be elated that Black Hat took the time to play a joke on her. 

“I never knew you were this timid and shy. You're usually so outgoing and boisterous,” At the connotation of his words Flug can't help the watered down wine that pools in his cheeks, nor the light feeling that momentarily depletes the stress etched in his ribs.

“But I guess when it really comes down to it,” He glances at Demencia, making his voice louder, “you can’t do it on your own.” He shakes his head in feigned disappointment, staring back down at Flug once more. “I guess I have to do everything around here like always to make things right.” He huffs, suddenly snatching Flug’s bare hands. Shivers leap up his arms; and crap Black Hat’s hands are hot. They’re making the palms of his hands sweat. 

Black Hat traces the back of his hand with his thumb, tracing his knuckles. His carmine iris boors into his eyes, and through his monocle he can see his sweating face. “Dinner. 7pm tomorrow. I’ll come to you and transport us to someplace nice.” 

An assortment of words he’s wanted to hear out of Black Hat’s mouth are finally presented to him. 

But of course, it’s in a circumstance such as this. 

It’s fitting, though. 

All along Flug always knew it would never happen the way he wanted, and the proof is that he always imagines it. The scenario just isn't possible, not with the words being genuine, any ways. That’s why it’s fit for being in his head, because it’s the only place that can fathom what he really wants; and play it out so well constructed and beautifully to the extent where it can seem real for a few moments. The only place where it can be entirely possible, and trick him so well into having hope that it can happen the exact way he wants. 

He settles for nodding, too stunned still at this even occurring, and yet disappointed as well, to manage anything else. 

Knowing your hopes will never come true is one thing, but confronting that reality is a whole other thing. Nothing could have prepared him for this feeling… this feeling he can’t describe at the moment; he feels empty. Drained of blood; left with weightless stringy veins that barely holds him together. 

He can’t even feel the heat of Black Hat’s hands anymore, but his mind knows they’re still there. 

Demencia steps forwards, gaping. “Black Ha-“ 

Black Hat doesn’t look away from the doctor as he snaps his fingers, rendering Demencia mute. Bright shamrock encircles around her lips as they move rapidly, but nothing comes out. Yet through no sound he can still hear screeches of pure despair in the air. In her pupils it burrows there. 

“No time Flug, get back to work you’re loosing time.” He starts to drag Flug out of the lab. “I’m sure you're starving, I’ll escort you to the kitchen.” He leaves no room for arguments in the tight sentence. 

Behind him he slams the lab door shut. 

As he is tugged reality snaps back to Flug, and all the jittery weight comes tumbling back and ramming into his chest. 

Black Hat is going to kill him. 

His hand jumps down to his obsidian skirt, tugging it down an inch. The leggings bunch uncomfortably, running up his thighs. He stares down at them, adjusting them.

Flug peers up just in time to catch Black Hat’s hand digging into his shoulder, slamming him into the cold jade wall. His body jumps, but doesn't move under Black Hat’s strong grip. 

Black Hat is practically laying on top of him, mouth right next to his ear and hissing, “You both must take me for a fool.” His nails retract, dredging in his shoulder. “I could tell it was you immediatly, Doctor Flug.” 

Hearing it all confirmed makes his heart sink and pulsate so fast it’s crashing against his ribs. 

“The second you creeped into the lab; yes I could see you by the way, you were not at all slick and you were breathing heavily,” Flug would have frowned at this if he weren’t so scared. “but looking into your eyes was what really gave it away. The shrinking of your pupils and the raw fear there, and that lingering shadow you shove to the backs of your eyes, I can still see all that behind those contacts. But the anxiety is always your strongest feature. I can always smell it pouring off you. The bitterness of your brisk thin blood, and the vibrations of your agile heart.” 

Impossibly he gets closer, closer than any human ever could, dragging his body up to tower over him. His chest is against Flug’s heaving one, and Flug’s trembling arms pop up as he flinches back. His elbows and back dig into the frigid wall. 

Black Hat’s hand snaps up, and Flug’s eyes squeeze shut. 

With more softness then Flug knew he contained, he didn't even know he had the ability to be soft in him, he’s gently pulling down Demencia’s lizard hood. The hood clings to his neck. 

Black Hat’s lips tilt to the left side of his mouth as he stares at Flug’s static hair.

The doctor can feel that the locks are out in all directions, some areas flattened from the hood. The rose bangs glued to his forehead from his perspiration are bobby pinned in, and Black Hat slides the pins out. The bangs fall to the floor, right besides Flug’s cobalt shoe. 

“Relax doctor,” He flattens down some of the wilder strands of hair, watching them stand up immediately once again. Then he looks at Flug’s still heaving chest, and suddenly cold air is soaring into his system. Wide eyed, Flug inhales and embraces it. “You look much better as a blonde.” 

He continues raking his hands through his hair momentarily, eye fleeting around his scalp. Yet he carries on talking as if he is doing nothing out of the ordinary. “You can’t really be surprised that I found out? I still can’t decide which of you were worse, Dementia or you. No where near prepared either. Coming in late, honestly doctor I would have thought YOU would at least be more prepared,” He clicks his tongue, and then smirks down at him. “unless you didn't want the plan to succeed.” A laugh rumbles up his chest. “Perhaps you’re more evil than I thought.” 

Flug shakes his head, stuttering. 

Black Hat shrugs, “Well you still should have known better than to try and trick me.” He grins, teeth on full display. “No one has ever succeeded before, and no one ever will.” 

With the pad of his thumb he soothes it over Flug’s scarred cheek, the warmth of the digit making the makeup practically melt off. Over the burn mark the sensation feels strange and nagging. The more he rakes his thumb over it and traces it, the more it puts the doctor on the brink of insanity. He clenches his teeth, the unwanted memories of the flames that had once licked there dangerously close to replaying in his mind. 

Luckily Black Hat pulls his thumb back, and Flug sags. When he holds his hand back up Flug flinches, and turns his face away. Black Hat clasps his chin, and in his exhale the whisperings of shushing noises escape. The pad of his thumb turns to a bright sapphire that dissolves into the hue of daisy petals in the center. 

Black Hat turns his face forwards again, and this time his touch is frosty. His eyes widen.

He can’t believe Black Hat didn't take advantage of the moment to send him back to his haunting memories. To watch him break down and suffer. 

After a minute of this Flug has leaned into the palm of his hand, eyes carefully slipping shut. His fake lashes flutter against the tops of his cheeks. 

He can feel the thunder in Black Hat’s chest, the silent but booming laughter. 

“And your scars showing look so much better than brown paper or powder.” He holds up his thumb, blowing the sky blue off it. It erupts into the atmosphere, fading into nothing but a brisk short breeze. 

He doesn't have to look in a mirror to know that his scar isn’t covered anymore. 

Through a smile he leans down so abruptly Flug flings his back into the wall. He halts at the doctors neck, exhaling once there to watch goosebumps break out across the concealed scar. Flug stiffens, and the tongue that meets his neck causes him to leap. 

Black Hat swallows down his cackles, licking the side and back of his neck. 

Flug can’t believe he’s lapping at makeup; he would have gagged if he had more of a focus to dwell at the thought of that drugstore powder sticking to tastebuds. But the action feels way too good. 

He clings onto the lapels of Black Hat’s trench coat.

But the lick at the shell of his ear is what makes him sag against the wall, and he has to bite his lip or else the noises building in his throat will escape. He chokes on them slightly, forcing them down. 

Black Hat could still be messing with him, after all. 

He laps harder and, wow, this is a lot of commitment to a joke if he’s messing with him. 

Around the top of his ear Black Hat’s lips crack in a smirk, and at that moment he knows he’s in trouble. Black Hat lightly bites down, teeth scratching against the top of his ear.

Flug gasps before he can stop the noise, and it wavers off into a moan. 

Black Hat laughs once in triumph, and the scorching air makes his ears tingle. 

At finally getting a noise out of the doctor he breaks away, staring down at the chest heaving doctor. His face and ears are tainted garnet, and his mouth is gaping. It’s a tempting offer, but he knows kissing him would most likely end in him having to carry Flug to his bedroom. He doesn't want to have to do that… yet. 

Flug stares up at Black Hat and inwardly curses at his calmness. How can he be so calm after what he just did?!

“I’ll see you tomorrow night at diner. Seven.” Black Hat reminds him, turning on his heels and strutting down the hall. 

Before he rounds the corner he turns, rolling his eyes at the doctor whose still in the same position. “Collect yourself and go back to work, you're losing time. I’m sure the idiot in the lab is already ruining and breaking everything.” He inwardly smirks, knowing that would be enough to get the doctor to jump. 

He rounds the corner once more, but then is back, tilting his head around the corner. His eyes skim over his outfit. “And leave the skirt on and the bag off. Beyond that, get rid of the rest.” His nose scrunches at the mention of everything else he’s wearing before his eyes are trained back on his skirt, smirking. 

Merlot rips at his ivory skin on his face, and he’s shoving his skirt down again even though it’s already down as far as it can go. 

Teeth glistening, Black Hat whistles innocently, heading back around the corner again. He can hear his shoes clicking in the distance, fading until he’s far away. 

Before he can doubt if this actually happened the cooling salvia answers him. Grimacing, he wipes the back of his hands at his cheek and neck. Regardless as to how hard he swipes at it, the chill manages to spread into his hands. 

Exhaling roughly he twists around, knees wobbling slightly, to take his time heading back to the lab. 

He feels bad for Demencia. Rethinking over everything that happened, he has no idea what he’s going to tell her. Of course Black Hat left him to the hard part. 

Glass shattering breaks through his nerves, fueling him with frustration. 

“Demencia!” He hollers, exclamation bouncing off the walls. 

Groaning, he runs to the lab. 

Well, this makes it a lot easier to confront her about what just occurred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So was this okay? Hahaha I'm a bit nervous since I've been editing and writing this while I've been tired. 
> 
> I have some doubts; but I can't wait to write more for this fandom, I have a ton of ideas I can't wait to start drafting! 
> 
> Thank you all so much for the feedback again, you have all been incredible!
> 
> My tumblr: paperhattt


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